


linger

by wrenkos



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Ghosts, Introspection, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Spoilers, this is very self indulgent i just love these two a lot ok!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenkos/pseuds/wrenkos
Summary: The afterlife was a funny thing.





	linger

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the end of fe15 (but these two are pretty much surrounded by spoilers so. )

It’s over, he thinks.

And by, ‘it’s over’, he means the mad god has been slain, the cousin he didn’t know existed is crowned king with a forgotten princess as his queen, life for those in the deliverance seems to be turning to forging bonds between the two kingdoms instead of trying to overthrow the opposite side.

Berkut watches, quite literally but the ghost of the man he was before. Lingering in the shadows, there, but not.

Of course, how could one count him as “there” if nobody could see him? The dead were not to disturb the living, after all.

But the halls, once cold and empty during his childhood, seem to line up with children favored by fate, favored by Mila herself. It’s jarring. He walks, so used to his footfalls echoing off the walls but realizing he cannot make any sound at all, only hearing the laughter from the children and the now victors of the war.

(He has seen Fernand once or twice here, he thinks, but that Fernand is a different man; surrounded by young children with a genuine smile on his face and he realizes with a pang that they, too, must be dead and must have waited for him.)

“My lord?”

Berkut turns, recognizing the voice.

Rinea.

The afterlife was a funny thing.

It’s almost time to move on, he knows. Like the pull of the waves, something higher above - something filled with light he has almost never known for his entire life, the warmth of human kindness - calls to him. He feels his last days as a spirit approaching.

In reality, he could have moved on to the next life with Rinea a long time ago, but he wanted to see Duma slain. To see the mad god fall before his own very eyes, the one who cursed him. The dragon did not fall with grace, but had peace in its final moments, he thinks. 

And now he is here, a time long overdue. To tie up loose ends, if one could do so without speaking to others.

“My apologies,” he says, voice much quieter than it was when he was alive. Death does that to a man, he supposes, but his conversations with Rinea were never that loud. She accepted him as who he was, not just a perfect figure of power over his people.

(He was blind to that. He realizes this now.)

(Foolish.)

“...My whole life I was told I was to be a king,” he mumbles, turning to Rinea before turning away again, to look at the laughing children - innocent people of the land - while the king and queen laugh and look on, too. He doesn’t know if he was ever like that once. “And it was all for what, in the end? It was what I was shaped in to, yet that man must have known I would never have the title. And yet...”

“Lord Berkut--”

“When I was but a boy I wanted nothing to do with war, nothing to do with fighting. The role of the emperor, dangled in front of my face like a carrot to a horse, for it to push me and make me...cold. Made me bitter and vile and now even dead.”

He laughs harshly.  

Rinea does not.

If he was alive the empty sound would have echoed off the lonely halls.

“...We cannot change the past,” Rinea says, brushing some hair behind her ear, “...I, too, was even too afraid, to pick up the sword. I had no desire to. But I had the choice not to...unlike you, Lord Berkut.”

He has no response.

They sit in silence for a while, at that.

(Silence has always been comforting for the two; they can be quiet, away from the world of loud parties and gossiping nobles in favor of private dances and flower crowns.)

“I must apologize, again,” after a while he sighs, “I didn't mean to trouble you with my thoughts.”

“No,” Rinea says, voice firm with a quiet kind of determination and he turns to look at her, the sun rays passing through her faded image almost entirely, and he is sure it does the same to him, “Brooding in silence and letting this...eat at you will do us both nothing good. We cannot change the past, my lord, but we can shape the future.”

A pause.

“We cannot change it, but it is what makes us. ...Had you not been a proud prince, perhaps I would not have met you that day.”

He blinks, then allows a small smile to grace his features, “...Perhaps, then, in the next life, things will be different.”

“Perhaps we’ll be but simple farmers.”

“...With lots of gardens and crops. Corn, strawberries, rice...” his voice trails off. “Flowers, for you.”

“Ah, but one would have to tend to the plants.”

He scoffs lightly, “Myself, naturally.”

Rinea tilts her head, studying his face for a heartbeat or two, then breaks into a laugh. Like music to his ears, he notes, already feeling the tug of a smile on his lips. “You, Berkut? It paints quite an interesting picture…”

“Why, if I can fight my enemies in this life, surely I can fight drought and insects in the next?”

“Do you know the first thing about tending to greenery, my lord?”

A pause. He must admit she has him there - he doesn’t. “It can’t be that difficult.”

She covers her mouth, her giggles, with her hand. “Of course, Berkut.”

He laughs a bit at that, too, before the laughter from them both slowly dies down and fades to silence once more. He finds himself to the playing children yet again.

“...Perhaps we should find out, then.”

“Berkut…?”

“To the next life, is what I...mean.”

Rinea blinks, once, twice, before smiling.

“...Forgive me if this sounds selfish, but…”

“It’s fine, my love. Do go on.”

Her cheeks, although slightly transparent, are dusted light pink. “Perhaps we could have one more dance in that garden where we first escaped to. I hope we’ll have something similar in the next world, but, ah…”

“It’s quite alright,” he finds himself smiling again, standing up and extending his hand. “Shall we?”

Although he always imagined ghosts to be cold and icy, Rinea’s hand upon his is warm. Faintly so, but still.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! kudos/comments are much appreciated!
> 
> (also feel free to message me on twitter at @/shirotojos or on tumblr at @/wrenkos because i love these two a Whole Lot...,..)


End file.
